


Plunge

by scapeartist



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 03:37:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3234833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scapeartist/pseuds/scapeartist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Multi-chapter, modern AU) It’s not just cold water Emma Swan plunges into on New Year’s Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you've never heard of a Polar Bear Plunge, it's an event that takes place in cooler climates where people will dive into very cold water on New Year's Day. It's crazy and a whole lot of people do it, and they do it for many different reasons.

_“Welcome, welcome, one and all to the annual New Year’s Day Polar Bear Plunge! For those of you brave souls taking the plunge, we will be diving in in about 5 minutes. The water is currently a brisk, thirty-seven degrees fahrenheit. Brrr… We sure hope you all ate up over the holidays. That extra layer of fat can only help!”_  laughed the announcer, his words echoing and half-garbled beneath the screech of feedback and the groans of everyone around.

Emma Swan—not a fan of winter—shivered beneath several layers of clothes, as she leaned against a lifeguard stand, her beach bag at her feet, and her gaze trained on the softly breaking waves lapping against the crowded, picturesque New England shore. A light breeze skimmed the hair away from her face and shoulders and reddened her cheeks and nose. Normally the view of never-ending blue sky and deeper blue ocean was her salvation after a tough week, day, or, on one or two occasions, hour. Today was something a little different. Less salvation and more…idiotic.

Reflexively, she bounced on the balls of her feet and blew into her cupped hands before shoving them back in her pockets to generate some warmth, grateful it was not a typical, frigid winter morning complete with a harsh, biting wind coming off the water. Five degrees colder or one, single, flake of snow, and Emma Swan would not be fidgeting among this throng of people waiting to dive into what might as well be arctic waters in the world’s most fucked up New Year’s Day tradition.

_Pull yourself together._  “It’s just water,” she mumbled to herself, in what was not one of her more convincing pep talks.

She could still back out. Right now. No one would know or care. She was doing this ridiculous stunt for herself and hadn’t told any of her friends what she was planning. As far as they knew, she was sharing their fate: either hours into a hungover day in bed, or hugging the toilet like a long, lost pal. Emma spent most of the New Year’s Eve party at Mary Margaret’s making damn sure her friends were too drunk to notice she wasn’t, which turned out to be more amusing than she could have hoped. At the moment, though, she would trade every blackmailable moment for a shot of liquid courage. But no matter how easy it would be to pack up and go home, Emma was determined to stay.

Last year had been…well, shitty. There was no sugar-coating the nasty, and rather loud, public break up with Whatshisname (he wasn’t worth remembering, but the flame of anger that fanned through her body when his shaggy hair and blasé attitude about all things Emma crossed her mind was motivational if not warmth-inducing). Nor could she forget the insane number of hours she worked (in trying to forget that asshole in the first place) that eventually lead to a month-long partnership with the flu during the best weather of the year, adding insult to injury. Emma could not have been more grateful to see last year in her rearview, but she still felt…beaten, frankly. She wanted nothing more than to conquer something…anything to make her feel in control of her own life again.

Maybe jumping into an ocean during the winter was a bit on the dramatic (and let’s be real, _foolish_ ) side, since the only good feelings she had toward the cold extended exclusively to beer and ice cream, but not at the same time. She’d always thought this particular event a bit nuts, and the people who did it short a few brain cells, but when she saw the reminder in the paper about it the week before Christmas, she knew exactly the statement she wanted to make. It sounded something like “Fuck you, I can do  _anything_.” Including running head-long into freezing water and living to tell the tale.

Even though Emma was feeling equal parts bold and apprehensive about this little venture, she wasn’t stupid. Kneeling down, she dug through her bag one more time to make sure she had everything she needed: towels, extra pair of socks, extra t-shirt for when she came out, and her keys in a handy location so she could get the hell back home to a bath in her preferred temperature: a few degrees short of scalding.

Emma’s goal was to come out of that icy ocean without the anger and disappointment she’d felt in herself after letting the events of the past several months overtake her. She wanted to let it float out to sea never to be heard from again. Mary Margaret was always going on about being open to the possibility of good things happening, and Emma generally rolled her eyes in response. That was never how her life had unfolded before. More like the opposite, really. But Mary Margaret was happy. Loved. Content. So maybe she was on to something. Maybe Emma needed to shock her system into thinking something different. Something hopeful.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the squeal of the PA system as the announcer took to the microphone again.  _“One minute, folks! When you hear the sound of the gun, it’s time to dive on in! Good luck and thanks for joining the 2015 polar plunge!”_

——————————————————-

Killian Jones stepped onto the beach, hefting his pack onto his shoulder, just as the announcer gave the five minute warning. He scanned the area, noting the surprisingly large crowd, and decided to leave his belongings by the lifeguard tower at the edge of area marked off for the swimmers. This wasn’t his first go at a polar plunge by any means, having lived in northern coastal towns most of his life where this kind of thing was a tradition amongst the locals, and he had learned the hard way that getting into the middle of the crowd as it raced in was never a good plan. In fact, you ended up with no choice over  _when_  you dove in, because inevitably someone would knock you down in their haste to get things over with. No, the outskirts were always the best option.

He jogged over to the tower, which he could now see had one other swimmer using its shelter to stash her bag as well. He could only see her long, blonde hair blowing back in the light wind that was always a part of the oceanside, but he heard her mumble, “It’s just water,” and grinned. He recalled saying the same thing the first time he decided to participate in one of these events. _Bloody frigid water_ , he thought, correcting her assessment.

Taking a step closer, Killian considered reassuring the woman that all would be well, but the stiffness in her posture stopped him. He could sense from the sigh she let out that it was more than just the regular cold temperatures making her tense. She was obviously working through something and he dare not interrupt. Instead, he settled his bag at the corner of the stand a couple of feet behind her so she could have some space, and began taking off his jacket, trainers, and baggy, worn, Navy PT pants, leaving him in a black zippered sweatshirt and dark blue board shorts as he waited for the starting gun to fire.

He dug his toes into the cold sand, the grains sliding around and forming to his feet, and he smiled to himself. Being at the beach never failed to remind him of all the times Liam used to bury him in the sand on hot days when they were kids during the years before Liam left for the Navy. Liam would bury Killian up to his neck, then Killian would break free of the sandy mound, coated in light gray muck, and chase Liam until his brother inevitably turned the tables and pushed his younger brother right into the freezing, salty, ocean water with a look of triumph only a big brother could wear. That was, until Killian, soaked and shivering, would stand up and launch himself at Liam, capturing him in a cold and clammy bear hug that he knew his very warm and dry brother detested. Not a day went by he didn’t miss Liam and all the ways he reminded Killian who was the older, wiser, brother.  _Smug bastard_.  

Killian’s chest ached as it did anytime he thought of his brother, and he took a deep, shaky breath to get control over the tears that threatened to make an appearance as they were still wont to do even though Liam had been gone for several years. The wind wasn’t strong enough to use as an excuse for watering eyes should anyone even bother looking at him. Luckily, he was new to town and the lifeguard stand blocked him from the view of those nearby. Well, almost everyone.

The woman in front of Killan knelt down to rifle through her bag, catching his attention and allowing him the view of her very pretty profile—to include a sprinkling of freckles peppered across the bridge her nose and spilling onto high, rounded, cheekbones—and reminded him of one more thing he needed to do. Reaching into the outside pocket of his pack, he pulled out a black grease pencil, and pushing up the left sleeve of his sweatshirt, he wrote “Liam” on his forearm, then tossed the pencil on top of his bag.

The announcer made his final warning and Killian took a deep breath, then shed his sweatshirt, leaving him in just his trunks accompanied by an involuntary shiver. He was about to stuff the sweatshirt back in his bag along with the pencil, when the woman in front of him began shedding her own (many) layers of clothes. It’s not that he’d never seen a woman strip down—quite the contrary—but the purposeful way she took off each piece of clothing, and the determined set of her shoulders and head as she stood waiting for the gun to go off, was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. This was obviously more than just a lark to her and he was more intrigued than he would admit.

She had undressed, leaving her in a bikini with a swim shirt over it, showing off her well-toned figure, and with a toss of her long, blonde hair she shook her arms, and he heard her say, “It’s now or never.”

Before he could wish her luck or say anything else, the gun went off and she began to trot toward the water as focused as a woman on a mission could possibly be. Killian smiled, impressed with her spirit and obvious will and followed happily along behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma plunges in (to the water) and Killian proves he is prepared for anything (as long as it has to do with the cold).

At the announcer’s last warning, Emma began to remove her jacket, fleece, and sweats. With each layer went her jitters, her fear, and her self-doubt, leaving the chill of winter and pale sunlight on her face. Diving into freezing waters might be one of the crazier things she's ever done, but it was purely her choice to do it, making it feel somehow less crazy.

Standing in the open with very little between her and the elements, Emma shook out her arms, shifted her weight from foot to foot, and took a deep breath.

“It’s now or never,” she said, exhaling through her nose and nodding to herself.

The gun went off, its report echoing up and down the beach. Emma’s heart pounded with the reverberation, her blood racing through her veins as she took off with a stiff gait toward the beckoning water, making sure she didn’t tread over any broken shells left by scavenging gulls. The closer she came to where the tide met the sand, the faster her footfalls picked up the pace in time to the one phrase repeating in her head.

_I can do this._

Off to her left, Emma heard the first splashes, gasps, and occasional shrieks (many of laughter) as more people took their first steps into the ocean. The small part of her that was questioning her sanity gave her one last plea to turn around, but she ignored it in favor of the heady feeling of adrenalin coursing through her, driving her on. The wet sand that welcomed the tides sucked at her feet, trying to slow her down, too, but with each deliberate stride she took—feet slapping against the thin layer of water, scattering droplets in every direction—she broke free of the sandy shore.

Her first step into calf-deep water pulled the breath from her lungs and exchanged “ _I can do this_ ” for a litany of “ _fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_.” She knew, in theory, that 37 degrees was chilly, but feeling what it meant in liquid form about to cover her bare skin was an entirely different kind of understanding. Every muscle in her tensed opposing the idea of icy water reaching any more of her body. Emma could feel the gooseflesh practically rippling over her skin as she continued on.

_It's just water...I can do this. Breathe._

Emma had gained enough forward momentum that stopping was no longer an option.Two more long stretches pushing through the resistance of several cubic feet of ocean, as well as all logic, and Emma was mid-thigh into the water. Her heart didn't know if it should beat faster or stop altogether, but beat on it did, its rhythm evening out into something stronger than before. The chill rising up from the soles of her feet burned with intensity as it licked up her legs and permeated through each layer of skin, until she felt viscous. A cutting dampness seeped upward from the hem of her shirt and reminded her of a long-buried lesson about swimming in the ocean: it’s always better to be all in than half out.  

_I can do this..._

She took a breath and held it tight in her lungs. Hip deep and barely able to control the shivering, Emma pushed off, arms out in front of her, pointed like the prow of a ship. There was no amount of positive thinking that could have prepared her for the heedless way the frigid water engulfed her until she could only feel a weak flicker of warmth deep in her gut, her limbs tingling as the chill bore down to her bones. Sounds became muffled and indistinct, rushing and bubbling away as she kicked her feet and pushed the ocean out of her way, sending her into deeper water and welcomed silence.

Emma was the cold water now, simultaneously fluid and constant, and for the first time in ages she stopped thinking and just _was_. And she had never felt so free. Every rotten feeling, every lousy interaction of the past year broke off and floated away like chunks of ice in an arctic floe, never to be a part of her again. Emma felt unencumbered and weightless in her relief, and as she floated in the water and the bite of winter temperatures faded to something indistinct from herself, she knew she was finally ready and open to whatever was waiting for her when she got out of the water.

Mary Margaret’s voice echoed in her head. “ _Good things can happen, Emma. You just have to believe._ ”

_I **can** do this._

As soon as her lungs began to burn and her pulse throb in her ears again, she changed direction back toward shore. When she couldn’t hold her breath any longer, she forced her feet to the shifting ground and popped her head and neck out of the water to catch a breath. Pushing her hair from her face and wiping her eyes, she could see that much of the crowd she’d gone in with was also heading back to the beach, cheers of welcome and triumph rising up with each return to land. Emma couldn’t help but feel that same elation at having successfully faced something so unrelenting on her own terms. She let a surprised yet satisfied laugh of her own bubble out of her, and then began her own trek back to the sand, the smile never leaving her lips.

Emma had been so focused on getting into the water, she’d completely forgotten she’d have to get out again—half naked and wet. Being drenched in the cold was a recipe for hypothermia, and Emma was feeling the weight of the cold slowing her down, no matter how excited she was to have completed the dive. _Way to think this whole thing through._ When the last of the Atlantic was behind her, Emma gathered the heavy mass of her hair and gave it a good squeeze before letting it fall on her back like a hank of seaweed against a rock. She folded her arms over her chest, just as her teeth began to chatter in earnest, and began the trudge back to the lifeguard stand several yards away.

Her feet felt distant and rubbery at best. She managed a steady first step on dry land by dumb luck, but over compensated for the lack of feeling and stumbled with her second. Her knees buckled and she was sure she was about to go down face first into the sand when a pair of hands gripped her upper arms and held her upright.

“Alright there, love?” said the voice attached to the hands.

Emma glanced over her shoulder and looked into attentive, bright blue eyes fringed with long, dark lashes, and a shock of black hair that curved into an arched eyebrow.

She realized the cold must had gotten to her—it couldn’t have been the fact that his expression was so disarming and genuine—when it took her more than a few seconds to answer his question. “Yeah,” she said with a brisk nod and a grin. “I am. Thank you.”

The man nodded back and immediately released her arms, moving aside but keeping pace with her as they neared the lifeguard stand. Emma caught his eye and he shot her a lopsided grin that showed off a dimple in the midst of the reddish scruff that gave his face a rakish look. As attractive as he was (and lord help her, even soaking wet, he was probably the best looking thing she’d seen come out of the water...ever), it was the look of concern for her in his eyes that intrigued her most. Aside from Mary Margaret, that was not the kind of look she was on the receiving end of regularly, let alone from a stranger.

Emma shivered, and for the first time since she got to the beach, she didn’t think it was because of the cold.

“Come here often?” he asked, nodding back at the ocean they just left as he scratched behind his ear.

 

* * *

 

Killian had the misfortune of being acquainted with waters colder than the part of the ocean he was entering, but it was still cold enough to brace for impact as he ducked under a wave. He took a few strokes into deeper territory, mindful of the undertow, then came up for air and turned toward the beach. Treading water, he watched the merry mayhem along the shore.

Polar plunges were pretty much all the same no matter where he did them. Young adults and college kids, usually still drunk from the night before, would run around either in ridiculous costumes or their smallest beachwear, completely oblivious to the environment, or the safety of others for that matter. They didn’t generally get too far into the ocean, but would wade in and splash or push each other into the water, howling with laughter before rushing out again with all the cockiness of someone who had wrestled an actual polar bear to the ground.

And then there were the local old timers; the grizzled men with their heroic-sized bellies to keep them warm and afloat, and the impossibly tanned and scrawny old ladies looking like so many raisins, who did this year after year and then went out for brunch together after. They were the ones who usually went for a swim rather than a free-for-all, and Killian admired the tough old sods for their placid approach to the frigid dunk, especially in comparison to the frenetic chaos from the younger crowd.

He obviously didn’t fit neatly into either group. Nor did the woman who preceded him into the water, but he was guessing they each had their own reasons that fell somewhere outside of drunken bets or friendly reunions. After watching her dive in without hesitation or fear, Killian followed suit, keeping an eye out to make sure she made it out again when he emerged. There was no mistaking her newness to the plunge, and he knew all too well how easy it was to miscalculate the effects of the cold on the body.

Killian saw a blonde head surface not more than a yard or two in front of him, and heard the pleased laughter that followed. Relieved to see her, Killian couldn’t help but smile as he looked at his watch. _Time to get out_. As experienced as he was in frigid temperatures both in and out of the water, he didn’t enjoy one bit the way the cold clung to his bones for days after if he was in too long. No, it was time to bid farewell and go home.

_Until next year, brother._   

Making his way out of the water, Killian ran a hand through his wet hair, getting as much of it off his forehead as he could, even though it always found a way back into his eyes. Rivulets of water ran down his neck, back, chest, and arms, their icy traces causing tremors to run through him. He skimmed off as much wetness as he could with stiff fingers, giving the wind as little to cling to as possible, when the lovely woman in front of him stumbled.

Without thinking, he leapt forward and grabbed her arms, keeping her from falling forward into the sand. He could feel her trembling as she attempted to regain her balance on unsteady feet. He was almost numb himself, and he was certain she was more so.

“Alright there, love?” Killian asked.

He was watching for any other signs she might be hypothermic, but when she turned her green-eyed gaze upon him, he was completely caught off-guard by just how beautiful she was, red nose and pale lips included. It took him a moment to realize she hadn’t answered him yet, he was so caught up in how she was regarding him—as if he were an unfinished book and she was about to write the ending.

She smiled through chattering teeth and nodded. “Yeah, I am. Thank you.”

With a nod in return, he let go of her and stepped away. They walked side-by-side through the thickening sand, and he caught her looking his way as he meant to unobtrusively make sure she was still steady on her feet. He smiled, looking down at the ground then reached up to smooth back the tickling hair that had curled around his ear.

“Come here often?” he asked, glancing back from where they had just come from.

As soon as the words were out of Kilian’s mouth, he wished for a giant squid or kraken to rise up from the ocean and carry him off to the depths from whence it came. _Bloody smooth, that was._

“W-wow. I didn’t think anyone used th-that line anymore,” she chuckled between chattering teeth.

He could feel embarrassment staining his cheeks as he tried to shrug off his choice of conversation starter. “I like the classics,” he said breezily.

“What, are you like 80 or s-s-something?” she cracked. “The answer is y-yes and no. I love the beach, but n-n-not in winter. Can’t say experimenting w-w-with hypothermia is my favorite past time.”

“Invigorating though, isn’t it?” he asked.

Practically snorting, the woman grinned broadly as she laughed. “That’s w-w-one way of putting it. I was thinking more like h-h-hairbrained, but tomato, tomahto, I guess.”

Killian appreciated her amused cynicism, but found her laughter far more enchanting. They were almost to the lifeguard stand, and Killian was about to throw away all efforts of being suave simply to hear more of her laughter, when he noticed how blue her lips had turned during the short walk. Her teeth hadn't stopped chattering either. He rushed ahead and opened his pack, quickly finding exactly what he was looking for and pulling the items out as he stood again.

Within his first step toward his fellow diver he had shaken out the silver emergency blanket with one hand, and with the next step, he flung it over her shoulders and made sure she grabbed the edges, pulling it tight around her, trying to stem the tide of shaking that he could see was becoming uncontrollable. He pulled the small stainless steel thermos he had wedged between his arm and body and opened it up pouring some of its steaming liquid into the cap.

She looked up at him, her eyes blinking slowly, and murmured, “What are you s-s-some sort of Saint B-b-bernard?” She looked pointedly at his chest then back into his eyes.

Killian grinned and chuckled. “Something like that. Rum spiked coffee, not brandy, love. It’s my go-to drink after a plunge. Puts hair on your chest, though, so don’t go overboard, darling.”

"No wonder you don't seem c-c-cold. From the looks of it, you’ve been drinking this s-s-stuff since you were a baby,” she teased.

“Touché,” he said, handing her the capful after she shifted her grip on the blanket to her left hand.

She toasted him, and he returned the favor with the rest of the thermos, and she closed her eyes as she sniffed the brew. “D-d-down the hatch,” she said before taking a tentative sip. She hummed, a faint smile on her lips, and took another sip.

“Oh, God, that feels g-g-good,” she said.

Killian almost choked on his own mouthful of the hot drink as her reaction brought thoughts of other, more enjoyable, activities with her to mind. He’d never been so thankful for the biting cold in his life. Even still, it was officially nippy and some outerwear was now in order.

Killian put the thermos on a step of the lifeguard stand a little too hard in his haste to clear his head, and leaned over to grab his sweatshirt, slipping it on without bothering to dry himself any further. He was still concerned for his drinking partner, no matter how difficult she was making it for him to think straight.

She looked up at him over the top of the cup and said, “Thanks, Liam.”

Heart stuttering for the briefest of moments, first because it had been years since he’d heard his brother’s name from any one else, and second because she had noticed the name written on his arm even in her compromised state. _Impressive._

Killian held up his hand in protest, “Oh, I’m not—”

The woman tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at him. If the sharp look in them was any indication, the spiked coffee was doing its job and warming her up. “So, you didn’t write your name on your arm in case an old guy like you had a coronary and someone had to fish you out?”

Killian laughed. “No. Liam is—”

She interrupted again. “Let me guess. Your partner?”

“Brother. Liam is... _was_ my brother. I do this every year in his honor.”

Shivering under the emergency blanket, the woman nodded, still looking closely at him. “That’s... _weird_. But ok, sure. Certainly explains the arctic survival kit. So what do your friends call you? Captain Coffee?”

“Killian Jones. Killian will do.”

“Well, Killian, I’m Emma Swan. Nice to meet you.”

Killian bowed slightly and smiled at her. “Pleasure’s all mine, Swan.”

Emma held out the cap to his thermos, and when he went to take it from her, she didn’t release it. Catching her gaze, with no small amount of confusion on his part, she grinned.

“Have any plans after this?” she asked.

He shrugged, even though his pulse quickened at the thought of spending more time with Emma, the fascinating no-longer-stranger. “Aside from draining the local reservoir for the world’s longest and hottest shower? Not really.”

Rolling her eyes and chuckling, she said, “Well, save some water for the rest of us, and I’ll take you out for some of the best soup you’ve ever had. It’s the least I can do to thank you for saving me from shivering myself to pieces.” Finally releasing her hold on the thermos cap, she took a deep breath and asked, “What do you say?”


End file.
